


Where Red Poppies Grow

by princehuangss



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, M/M, Not with each other, body swapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:08:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27474772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princehuangss/pseuds/princehuangss
Summary: When Jaemin finds himself far away from home and in a body that is not his, the only thing that's on his mind is making his way back to Renjun.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Na Jaemin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 33





	Where Red Poppies Grow

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in the span of a couple days, completely on a whim and with no beta, so please excuse me if this sucks lol. but i really had fun writing it so i hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> there are some references to flowers and use of flower language in this, keep that in mind!

The first time it happened, Jaemin thought he was back in college, waking up after a long night of partying and getting black-out drunk.

He had no idea where he was, and his head was pounding like it had been driven through with a spike. His body felt off-kilter, like he was wearing a mascot costume that was ten sizes too big. Renjun was probably going to kill him when he got home. He was going to give a long lecture about how Jaemin was too old to be going out like this.

Jaemin glanced around, trying to get his bearings. He seemed to be in the basement of a house; unfamiliar, but that didn’t surprise him. The morning sun streamed in through the dirty glass of the room’s sole window, highlighting a strip of the linoleum floor and the dust floating through the air.

He coughed and hauled himself off of the worn, slightly smelling couch he had been sleeping on, and  _ woah _ — was he taller?! Jaemin glanced down at his hands and his blood went cold.

Those weren’t his hands.

His gaze fell to his feet. He was wearing mud-caked boots that were definitely a few sizes bigger than Jaemin’s feet. Jaemin didn’t even own shoes like these.

Jaemin stumbled around the room, trying to find a mirror, or even some reflective glass to hopefully shed some light on the rapidly growing confusion in his chest.

Before he could find anything, however, a voice rang out from what must have been the upstairs. In a thick southern accent, a woman called out, “Ted, get up here! Breakfast’s ready!”

Ted? Jaemin didn’t know a Ted. The voice from upstairs wasn’t familiar at all; Jaemin had never even heard a southern accent outside of the movies. Nevertheless, he followed the voice up a set of stairs and into a quaint little kitchen.

A woman stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing off a dirty pan. She was older, maybe in her sixties, and was wearing a ratty floral apron. Her hair was curled and dyed red, and her fingernails were painted a bright blue.

She caught sight of Jaemin, and raised one drawn on eyebrow at the plate of eggs and toast on the kitchen table. “Well?” she said, “eat up, it’ll get cold. Todd and Rachael are gonna be here any minute.”

Why was this woman talking to Jaemin like she knew him? Who were Todd and Rachael?

Jaemin rushed past the plate of breakfast and into a bathroom he had spotted down the hall, he flicked the light on, and—

Yup, that was  _ not  _ him. Glaring back at Jaemin in the mirror’s reflection was an old man, with a receding grey hairline and a worn, sun-spotted face. Jaemin reached up to touch his face and was horrified to see the old man’s arms follow suit.

He stormed out of the bathroom and down the hall to where had seen what looked like a front door. Jaemin unlocked it and yanked it open.

The house stood at the end of a long dirt driveway that curled around a grove of trees and out of sight. The trees stood alone, surrounded on all sides by rolling plains of grass and fields of corn. Jaemin had never seen a place like this before; he certainly wasn’t anywhere near home, and he apparently wasn’t even in his own body.

He had to talk to Renjun.

“What the hell is up with you this morning? Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost? Your breakfast is getting cold.” The woman was there again, standing in the doorway with a hand on her hip.

Jaemin ignored her words. He forced out in hesitant English, “Where’s the phone?”

The woman looked downright confused by now. “Ted— what? You know where the phone is. Who do you need to call anyways?”

Jaemin struggled to stay calm. “Just please, show me the damn phone.”

The woman stared at him as if he had grown an extra head, but held her hands up in defeat. Jaemin followed her to the phone; an old, corded thing hanging from the wall. Jaemin picked it up, and stared at the number pad for a moment, hand hovering uselessly over it.

Had he never bothered to memorize Renjun’s phone number? To be fair, he had never needed to; it was always saved in his contacts under “my favorite evil gremlin <3”.

He slowly set the phone down and turned back to the woman. “We don’t happen to have a computer, do we?”

The woman stared at him incredulously. “No, we do not. Now go sit down and eat your breakfast, while I call the doctor. You’re worrying me.”

*

He woke up the next day somewhere knew.

Some part of him was almost expecting it, yet he couldn’t help the disappointment that sat like a weight on his chest. It had only been a couple days, but he missed waking up to Renjun wrapped around him, hair tousled and eyes heavy with sleep.

This morning, Jaemin woke up in a bed with pristine white sheets, in a spotless bedroom. The wall to his left was entirely glass, overlooking a bustling city from way high up.

Jaemin had no problem locating the master suite. The lights were bright, reflecting off the shiny granite countertops and the porcelain footed bath. Jaemin was significantly shorter this morning, and when he looked at himself in the mirror, he was met with a feminine face, brown skin, and thick, black hair that fell past his waist. The person whose body he had adopted was beautiful, yet not remotely familiar.

The apartment that he was in was sleek, modern, and no doubtedly way more expensive than anything he and Renjun could afford. He found he wasn’t jealous, though; his and Renjun’s apartment may be small, and accompanied by some less-than-pleasant neighbors, but they had spent the last three years filling it with signs of life and love. It was home, and Jaemin was itching to get back to it, back to Renjun’s arms.

A sigh of relief exited him when he spotted a macbook, plugged in and still unlocked on the kitchen island. Jaemin clicked through way too many Microsoft Excel windows before he finally located the Chrome browser, and opened up a new page.

_ “Huang Renjun LinkedIn”,  _ he typed into the search bar, because that was the only place off the top of his head that he knew had his boyfriend’s contact information.

Jaemin clicked on the first search result and whooped in celebration when Renjun’s face popped up, his phone number right next to it. He scoured the apartment until he finally found a cell phone. He dialed Renjun’s number with shaking hands, and waited as it rang once, twice—

“Hello?”

Jaemin’s heart fluttered at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice. “Renjun!”

“Umm… who is this?” Renjun’s voice sounded shaky, distracted. “Why are you calling?”

Jaemin was silent for a moment. What was he supposed to say? Without even thinking, he blurted out, “It’s Jaemin.”

The line was silent for a moment, and Jaemin heard a shuddering breath from the other end.

“Do you think you’re fucking funny?” Renjun spoke. “You don’t even sound like— why would you—”

Jaemin’s face went hot, and he hung up the phone. He sunk down onto the leather black couch that was stiff and cold on his legs.

What had he been thinking? He wasn’t even… himself. What had he been hoping to accomplish?

He curled his legs to his chest and tried to remember the cadence of Renjun’s voice as tears soaked through the knees of his pajamas.

*

The next morning he woke up with a firm mission in mind.

No matter how long it took, or how many people he would pass through, he would make his way home. Whether it was by physically making the journey home to Korea somehow, or by simply playing the waiting game and hoping fate would bring him back to his own body, he would return to Renjun again.

Today’s person did not mark a very helpful start— there wasn’t much you could do in the body of a five-year-old. 

He tried not to cringe at the dirt and grime underneath his fingernails, or the permanent kool-aid stain around his mouth. At some point, another child came over to his house, ushering him along in a language that he did not recognize. 

That day was Jaemin’s favorite day. He and Renjun had never had enough money to travel the world, despite it being at the top of their collective bucket list. Simply running through the crowded streets of a country he couldn’t even name, Jaemin was almost able to forget his strange predicament. 

At one point, Jaemin’s friend stopped him outside of a shop and rushed inside. He returned minutes later with a small box and a mischievous grin, and rushed away without even looking to see if Jaemin was following.

They ran until they reached a field on the outskirts of the city. Jaemin looked on with awe; the field was dotted with tiny red flowers that upon further inspection, he realized were poppies. 

Renjun used to work at a flower shop during University, and had taken the time to teach Jaemin the names of each and every one of the flowers that they sold. Jaemin plucked a few, and proudly showed them to his new friend. Jaemin wanted nothing more than to give them to Renjun, but that wasn’t an option, so he tucked one behind his ear.

His new friend finally opened the box he was carrying, and inside sat a small frosted pastry. When the boy began to sing, Jaemin realized with a start that it must have been his birthday.

*

A few days and a few bodies gone by, and Jaemin was beginning to lose hope.

It was difficult to explain to the families of the people he inhabited why he suddenly wanted to up and leave on the first plane to South Korea. The closest he was able to get was when he woke up in the body of a young woman in Canada. She lived alone, so no one was around to stop Jaemin when he left, but unfortunately the airport security got suspicious when he was trying to check in. He quickly gave up, not wanting to stir up any trouble.

Jaemin pulled his knees up to his chest and shivered. He had left the woman’s house with nothing but a sweatshirt to keep him warm, and now he was sitting on a bench in front of the airport, the harsh Canadian winter beating down on him along with an immense amount of regret.

It was dark, and Jaemin was tired. He could just fall asleep here, if he wanted to. It’d make no difference to him; tomorrow he’d be somewhere completely different, hopefully somewhere warm.

He knew he couldn’t do that to this girl, however, so he hopped on the next airport shuttle that came.

The ride was going to be long, so Jaemin rested his head against the plexiglass windows and took out the girl’s phone. He unlocked it, thanks to the life-saving powers of Face ID, and opened the instagram app.

No new posts had been uploaded on  _ @huangrj _ ’s insta page since last week, but the sheer sight of his boyfriend’s familiar face sent waves of warmth through Jaemin. He grinned at a picture of Renjun digging into a steaming bowl of ramen, sitting between Jaemin’s legs on their living room couch. 

The next picture was of Renjun holding up a rainbow-striped flag, the post geo-tagged “Seoul Pride”. Renjun was tucked into Jaemin’s side, and the grin on the boy’s face stretched ear-to-ear. Jaemin remembered that day; it had been one of the happiest of his life. He let out a fond laugh that turned into a sob, and it was then that Jaemin noticed the silent tears running down his cheeks.

He quickly wiped away his tears with the sleeve of the girl’s sweatshirt and focused back on the city lights whizzing past outside.

Jaemin would find his way home again, even if it meant he had to wait.

*

Jaemin yawned and stretched as he woke up to yet another new bedroom. It must have been a guest room— the walls a warm beige and the furniture plain— and a suitcase sat open on the bedroom floor.

Hanging above the oak dresser directly in front of him was a painting, a bundle of marigolds in a sky blue vase.

Jaemin’s eyes widened. Renjun had hung an identical painting in the guestroom of their apartment. Yellow was his favorite color, and he insisted that the brightly colored flowers would brighten up the room and make their guests feel at home.

Was Jaemin finally home? He wasn’t sure why he was sleeping in the guest room, but he’d take it.

The apartment was completely silent when Jaemin opened the bedroom door, save for a light shuffling from the kitchen.

_ Renjun. _

Jaemin hadn’t looked, but his body felt like his. Right height, right build; he didn’t bother checking as he rushed to the kitchen.

“Renjun,” he breathed.

His boyfriend was facing away, leaning over the counter with his head in his hands. At the sound of Jaemin’s arrival, he turned around. 

Renjun looked tired,  _ so  _ tired.

There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and his eyes looked red and swollen as if he had been crying. Jaemin could feel his heart shattered into a million tiny pieces. What had caused his boyfriend, the love of his life, to look this miserable?

At the sight of Jaemin, Renjun’s face barely changed save for the fresh wave of tears that pooled in his eyes. His boyfriend shuffled over to Jaemin and threw his smaller body into Jaemin’s arms.

“Donghyuck, I can’t do this,” Renjun sobbed.

_ Donghyuck?!  _ One glance at his forearm and the tanned skin and nimble fingers, and yup, that was his best friend’s arm. Not his.

Jaemin had learned in the past week of jumping between bodies that he had to be careful with what he said— careful not to give away that he was not, in fact, who these people thought he was.

“You can’t do what?” He ventured.

Renjun shuddered. “The funeral. It’s— It’s only been a week, and I can barely get myself to  _ eat,  _ let alone arrange a whole service for my  _ dead boyfriend.” _

“Woah, woah.” Jaemin interjected. “Take a deep breath.”

_ Dead boyfriend?  _ Jaemin couldn’t…. could he?

Jaemin guided Renjun so that his head was resting on Jaemin’s shoulder and when he was sure that Renjun couldn’t see, he squinted over the top of his head and at the kitchen counter.

A pamphlet rested there, where Renjun had been standing moments before.  _ In Loving Memory _ was printed on the front in looping cursive.

Below, it was a picture of Jaemin.

He remembered the picture; Renjun had taken it of him last year, during a picnic date down at the Han River. His hair had been an electric blue at the time. His smile was wide.

_ Na Jaemin _ , it read beneath,  _ August 13, 2000 — November 1, 2020. Survived by his parents and his long-time boyfriend, Renjun... _

November 1st— that was exactly a week ago. The day before Jaemin had first woken up in Ted’s body.

God, that seemed like an entire lifetime ago.

Jaemin soon found himself shaking with the force of his sobs as he held Renjun tight. They cried together in the apartment that they had both called home. 

He was in his friend’s body, he wouldn’t ever be able to say goodbye to the love of his life, yet something within him settled. He felt complete as he held Renjun, and whispered to him, “Jaemin loves you so much. I’m sure he wishes more than anything for you to be happy.”

Renjun nodded into Jaemin’s shoulder and sniffed. “I would never let him down.”

*

Jaemin went to sleep that evening, in the guest room in Donghyuck’s body, and that was the very last time his soul wandered. It stayed put now. It had found its way home, and now it had a new mission.

**Author's Note:**

> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/princehuangss) | [My CuriousCat](curiouscat.qa/princehuangss) ♡


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